


not to me. not if it's you.

by flootzavut



Series: rotten work [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (but with potions), Ambiguous Relationship, Blanket Permission, Canon-adjacent, Feral Behavior, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia's Black Eyes, Intoxication, Justice for fuzzy Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Purring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scenting, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touch-Starved Jaskier | Dandelion, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Utter disregard for canon, Witcher potions, Yearning, queer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22823026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: (Yes, Jaskier is well aware it's an idiotic way for two grown men to behave. No, he does not care.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: rotten work [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646047
Comments: 91
Kudos: 1516





	not to me. not if it's you.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alleyesonthehindenburg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleyesonthehindenburg/gifts).



> for all the usual reasons but also for giving me the perfect title when I was utterly stuck 👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼 Thank you, love! (Yes, it's that quote from Orestes.)
> 
> I have outright disregarded what canon may or may not say in order to indulge my desire to make Geralt purr and I'm not sorry. Also I'm like 99% sure the potions don't work this way but I don't care, I'm just having fun here 😄

* * *

_**not to me. not if it's you.** _

* * *

Jaskier's dozing rather than asleep; there's always part of him, even now, listening out for Geralt to return, even after the hundredth bruxa hunt.

Some of it is concern (despite how he acts, Geralt isn't actually invincible, and there's supposed to be a whole nest), and most of it is that Jaskier's grown so used to sharing a bed (even if they don't _have_ to these days) that sleeping in a strange inn (or especially out in the forest) without Geralt at his back is... well, not impossible, but not nearly so warm and pleasant.

He smiles to himself when he hears familiar footsteps sooner than expected, Geralt's gait as unique as his voice to Jaskier's musical ear, but doesn't stir. It's a game of pretend for them; there's no way Geralt is fooled, and Jaskier knows he's not fooled, they both know it's just an excuse, but if Jaskier is 'asleep', Geralt holds him a little closer and a little tighter, and they both sleep better.

(Yes, Jaskier is well aware it's an idiotic way for two grown men to behave. No, he does not care.)

As is his habit, Geralt removes his armour, stowing it carefully near Roach, then prowls over to the bedrolls and lies down behind Jaskier, one arm wrapping firmly around Jaskier's waist, as usual. So far, so normal.

What's not at all normal, and makes Jaskier gulp, is how Geralt presses his face into the side of Jaskier's neck, breathing in deeply, mouth and nose flush against his skin, smelling Jaskier or maybe tasting him... Jaskier isn't sure of anything all of a sudden, except that Geralt's very close and this is very intimate, and he might be confused, but he doesn't want it to stop.

Geralt strokes Jaskier's belly through his shirt, and Jaskier lets out a choked noise despite his best efforts. He expects... he's not sure what? Laughter, teasing, something to say this is a joke. Or even something to say Geralt's absolutely serious. What he gets instead is more of a growl, deep and low, and Jaskier's pulled tightly enough to Geralt's chest he can _feel_ it, like a cat's purr, if the cat were the size and shape of a well-built human.

Jaskier moans when Geralt noses up his neck, under the corner of his jaw, then behind his ear. Gods, what in the name of all that's good is Geralt doing? Jaskier can't quite let himself believe this is Geralt's very unsubtle (and well overdue) response to the adoration he's given up trying to hide, but when Geralt nuzzles into his hair and lets out another heartfelt growl, it's hard to come up with a better explanation.

"Geralt?" There's no point pretending to be asleep when he's squirming in Geralt's arms.

Geralt doesn't even say 'hmm', just rumbles in Jaskier's ear like a fucking tiger, and Jaskier melts. _Oh, sweet Melitele_. He arches up, begging wordlessly for Geralt not to stop, and Geralt obliges.

It's... a lot. For some time, Jaskier loses himself in it, revelling in being the centre of Geralt's attention as he's ached to be for so long. It does vaguely occur to him, as Geralt nibbles his neck, that even Geralt is romantic enough to _kiss_ , but it's oh so difficult to think. He just barely resists the temptation to murmur _more_ or _harder_ , afraid that he'll break this spell.

Eventually Geralt tugs at him to turn him onto his back, then climbs on top of him, looks down at him, and-

Oh. _Oh_. In the moonlight Jaskier can make out Geralt's eyes; they're black and shiny, like a night sky not even interrupted by stars, and there are black veins standing out against ashen skin. _Fuck_. Jaskier's heart sinks. It explains a lot, though. If Geralt's still full of potion, running on instinct...

He's not disappointed. Not much. Well. Very, but he can learn to live with it. Especially when Geralt leans down and presses his face to the hollow of Jaskier's throat and breathes in some more, then burrows down into the vee of his chemise, mouth open against his chest, taking great gulps of air. Jaskier can't let it go too far, but Geralt's weight on him is... oh, everything, and he can't help grasping at Geralt's arms, shoulders, back. His heart is pounding; to Geralt's sensitive hearing it must sound like cavalry charging into battle. Geralt clutches at him, possessive and protective, and Jaskier relishes it.

What it means, when Geralt isn't quite himself, who knows? But it must mean something, or at least if it means nothing, it's still a very enjoyable nothing that Jaskier will treasure in his memory for the rest of his life.

Then - Melitele! - Geralt _licks_ him. "Oh, gods." This is either sweet torment or cruel and unusual punishment. Jaskier can't decide which. Maybe it's both.

He twists his fingers into Geralt's hair. "Fuck, Geralt." He still doesn't fully understand the effects of the potions, no one truly does except the Witchers themselves, so he's not sure how much of Geralt is still in there. Enough that he recognises Jaskier, that Jaskier's not afraid; he knows to his marrow that Geralt would never hurt him. Enough that this behaviour reflects something real? Jaskier daren't hope. So, much as his body wants to take and give until morning, he won't, won't take more from a man who's had so much taken from him already.

"Geralt," he says again, softer, and tugs. To his surprise, Geralt lets him; he pulls until Geralt's looking up at him, face still raw and feral, eyes still inky black.

Jaskier laughs suddenly, hit by how ridiculous this is and how very dear this man is to him. He cradles Geralt's head in both hands and draws him in, kisses the black veins, whispers sweet, calming words against his skin. Rather to his surprise, it seems to work; Geralt makes a sound not unlike a contented cat and lets Jaskier stroke his face and hair, lets Jaskier pepper affectionate kisses on his cheeks and forehead, and his eyelids droop. "There. Good Witcher." (It doesn't escape Jaskier's notice that he's talking to Geralt as if to a large, mostly obedient dog; if Geralt remembers in the morning, he will have some grovelling to do.)

By degrees, Geralt relaxes down into his body, and he seems more restful now, less desperate and needy, and just maybe Jaskier will get out of this without having to awkwardly explain away bite marks tomorrow. Geralt slips a hand under his chemise and rubs idly at the hair on his belly. Jaskier gulps and prays to whoever might be listening that Geralt won't notice his aching erection.

A heap of sleepy Witcher on his chest is not conducive to his own rest, but Jaskier's dealt with worse. Geralt lets out a noise that's not so much purr-like as an actual purr, low and resonant and adorable.

For a second, Jaskier is frozen with surprise, then he laughs again, because of all the things... He pets Geralt's hair, gently strokes his back, and the purr gets deeper and slower. "Oh, Geralt." He probably shouldn't put this in a song, but it's a crying shame, because it may be the most winsome thing he's witnessed in his life. It might make up for being squashed (and not actually allowing Geralt to ravish him) to have this memory.

He adjusts himself as best he can, shuffling his shoulder blades down into his bedroll, pulling the blankets over them both, and wrapping his arms around Geralt. If he's to serve as a Witcher's pillow, he'll inevitably wake in a somewhat compromising position; might as well enjoy the closeness and warmth while it lasts. It definitely won't be his worst night sleeping outdoors.

Geralt's purr is pressed against his skin, and he reminds Jaskier once more of nothing so much as an enormous house cat. Given how picky cats usually are about who they will talk to, never mind sleep on, it's a comparison that warms Jaskier's heart, possibly more than it should.

No, definitely not his worst night on the road. Jaskier runs his fingers lightly over Geralt's hair, grins at the absurdity of it all, and does his best to sleep.

_~ fin ~_

**Author's Note:**

> This... might eventually get either a chapter two or a followup? But I'm not really sure and they're being stubborn, so for now it stands alone.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] not to me. not if it's you.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24081982) by [BabelGhoti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabelGhoti/pseuds/BabelGhoti)




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